From Beneath The Wave
by MaraudersAffair
Summary: The war has ended and Harry and the rest of the gang have decided to finish their last year at Hogwarts. Though everyone around him is happy and content, Harry finds himself out of place and distraught. He seeks someone who feels similar. Drarry.
1. Chapter 1

The summer before Harry's postponed seventh year of school was nothing like a holiday should be. There were no early morning swims in the river bordering the Burrow, no late night chats with Hermione and Ron on the outside porch, sipping watery lemonade and eating burnt sausages from the fire. The feeling of contentment and relaxation was nowhere to be found – it was a dreary and dark three months, with nothing but thick humidity and unwanted sunburns.

He found no rest in the empty bed next to Ron, and no comfort when he decided to speak to his best friend. He lay on that bed now, eyes twisted closed, imagining the frequent concern etched within Ron's features. The thin line on his forehead, the deep frown upon his lips – expressions that made Harry want to rip out his own eyes so that he would never have to feel the guilt that went with all the anxious looks.

Late at night he heard Mrs Weasley's soft voice, urging the surviving adults that Harry was just fine – that he'd been through a lot and no one should expect a boy to bounce back so quickly after killing _Lord Voldemort_. God, sometimes he didn't even believe it himself. Sometimes he still dreamt about that white face and dead features. When he awoke he thought of Dumbledore and tried to ignore the sticky sweat on the back of his neck, and the taste of copper from biting down on his tongue to stop himself from crying out.

He wanted to escape – to forget the feeling of having a purpose. It was absolutely insane, but he found himself looking around, wondering what to do. Going back to Hogwarts without the threat – the _excitement_ of preparing for the next attack. It was all he had known, and now he realised it was all he had ever wanted to know. He clenched his fists against the soft sheets, feeling the sharp edge of pain as his jagged nails cut into the flesh on his palms. He worked down an insufferable yawn by gritting his teeth together. The sun fell onto his face and deepened the burn on his nose.

He wanted to punch something fleshy and hard, create brutal force and pound his knuckles until the wall of insecurities and confused looks gave way. He wanted to know that another person felt somewhat similar, that he wasn't completely alone. Everyone seemed to be coping with life after the war better than him. It made him wonder how they were able to suppress the horrible memories from that year of terror.

"Harry." The voice was feminine, soft but nothing like what he wanted to hear at the moment. It lifted him from under the wave of his thoughts, and suddenly everything became clearer.

"Yeah?" he answered noncommittally, his eyes still closed tightly. He honestly didn't know why he acted so rudely, but he didn't completely dislike it.

"I – do you want something to eat? Some eggs and ham are leftover from breakfast, even if they probably taste like shite."

He moaned silently at the thought of going downstairs. Though, he was very hungry and he doubt he'd be left in peace if he didn't make an appearance soon. The whole house seemed to be bordering on anxious suspicion that Harry was suffering from depression, something that Mr Weasley had been quick to point out could be cured with a trip to St Mungo's. But he wasn't depressed – just lost about what in the hell he would do with his life.

A hand raked through his messy bangs and he reached up to wrap his fingers around the fragile wrist. Finally opening his eyes, he stared up at Ginny's questioning expression. He blinked a few times, waiting for his pupils to adapt to the harsh sunlight. The connection between their eyes made that all too familiar guilt bubble up within Harry. It felt worse than heartburn and more potent than a headache. He quickly looked away.

"How are you feeling?" she asked weakly. He could tell she was uneasy from the stiffness of her arm.

"All right, I guess." He tightened his grasp, adding pressure to the small bones. She sucked in a quick breath and he released her wrist without an apology. _That was for not leaving me alone_, he thought bitterly, then suddenly regretted it. The Weasleys were doing him a favour – allowing him to stay in their home without paying any rent or even helping around the house. Ginny didn't deserve to be treated in such a cruel manner. God, he was such a bastard.

He paused for a moment, staring down at the lint-covered blanket. He picked at it with two fingers. "Hey, Gin – I'm sorry, you know. Sorry – for everything."

Brow furrowed, Ginny looked at him in astonishment. "Why should you have to apology for anything? No one knows what you went through – and no one can even begin to imagine how hard it must have been on you. That includes me." Her right shoulder twitched as she said this, as if her instinct was to comfort him with a touch, but her mind had stopped the movement of her arm.

Harry felt the sharp stinging in the back of his eyes. No way would he cry in front of Ginny. Her words did little to comfort him – he felt more alone as he walked to the loo to freshen up.

.:.

"Everyone just loves you, Harry," Mrs Weasley said as she served him some of the reheated breakfast. "Still get mail from people all around the world, wanting to thank you." She smiled at him with encouragement and he forced himself to move his lips upward. It was a struggle.

He tried to ignore the stack of letters next to his plate as he shovelled rubbery eggs and meat into his mouth. They stared up at him as evidence of his isolation, a thought that he gloomily saw as incredibly dramatic. Frowning, he set his fork down and picked up the first letter. The envelope was wrinkled, and the underside of it was splattered with owl shite. He scratched at the white substance with his thumbnail.

A handful of jellybeans fell out as he ripped it open. The paper within was obviously used for primary school, and the writing was in big, red crayon. His stomach gave a lung as he read the letters – HEARO, and he was charmed by the child's attempt at spelling. He wasn't a hero, that was for damned sure; it wasn't as if he had any choice in the matter of defeating Voldemort. He sometimes wondered what he would have done if that prophecy never existed, and it scared him to accept the possibility that he would've allowed the evil bastard to take over without any protests.

He sometimes wondered if he were a Gryffindor because he was meant to be one, or because people had expected him to be one. No choice in the matter. Not one damned choice in his whole life – no one ever stopped and went, "Hey, are you sure you want to do this?" They had just expected him to be willing and exactly the way they had pictured him.

It was the same deal with all the fan mail and congratulatory frozen turkeys – Harry didn't even like turkey, but who really cared at the end of the day? They had imagined he liked turkey – loved the stuff, so even if Harry chucked each one into the bin, they could sit at home and imagine that he obviously devoured the thing.

"Where do you want to greet Mr Lovegood for that interview, dear?"

Harry stopped mid-chew, a bit of ham still hanging from his lips. He had completely forgotten about his promised interview for the _Quibbler_. It had been scheduled for today, hadn't it? Sometimes it scared him how much important information slipped right out of his brain these days.

"Er," he said, his eyes widened behind his glasses, "where do you think I should – greet him?"

"Well," Mrs Weasley said, turning around to face him, her greying red hair pulled back in a knotted bun, "it's a nice day out – why don't you sit outside, on the porch, and have some lemonade. I'll cast a cooling charm – the lemonade will attract the bugs, but there's another spell for that as well."

"Sounds terrific." Honestly, he didn't care where he gave the interview, only that it was quick and he wasn't asked any hard questions, like replaying the scene in the Forbidden Forest. Once a freelance reported had snuck into Harry's room shortly after the final battle, and Harry was forced to use his bedside lamp as a sword until he had given up and just chucked it at the reporter, shattering the ceramic base in his face. He had felt guilty enough to sit down and allow the bleeding man to ask him a few questions. About the war. About his relationship with Dumbledore. What he had seen in Snape's memories.

When Mr Weasley finally made the reporter leave, Harry decided to never talk about his experiences again. He didn't realise how much unwanted emotion he had stored within him – he had almost _cried_ when he spoke about his memories. And that was just ridiculous – at least he had survived. The same couldn't be said about Lupin, Tonks, Snape, or even Fred.

He soon decided that out of everyone's death, Fred's was the one which affected him the most. It was hard enough that he had to pass the room Fred had shared with George on his way downstairs, staring at that closed door and knowing George was inside, not making any sound. Silence was such a difference that it made Harry's ears ring with heartache and guilt. What made it worst was through the silence, he sometimes heard the quiet sobs of Mrs Weasley coming from a locked bathroom, imagining that poor woman sitting on the tile floor and expressing emotions she didn't want anyone to hear.

Common sense told him none of this was his fault, but he kept on thinking about all the things he could have done differently. Maybe if he had been quicker about killing Voldemort all of his friends wouldn't be dead. Maybe tiny Teddy Lupin would still have parents, and maybe George would only be missing an ear, not the other half of his life.

Leaning back in his chair, he watched as Mrs Weasley sliced the chicken for tonight's meal, the pale and saggy skin on her arms wiggling as she worked. Staring at her plump back made Harry ache with the need for someone to comfort him. He wondered idly what his own mother would have looked like at Mrs Weasley's age.

The deep wrinkles on her face were drawn into a taut expression, and her eyes were slightly red from crying. Harry had to admire her strength, having the ability to pick herself up every morning and continue to smile at everyone, make meals and answer questions in her cheerful way. She was hurting and all Harry wanted to do was apologise for something he had no business apologising for. He wanted to comfort her, and maybe in return, she would comfort him.

Staring at her made him ache for a mother, for someone he could wrap his arms around and babble his nonsense thoughts and worries to. He wanted someone to pat him on the back and tell him confidently that _everything would be just fine, don't you worry_. Because nothing seemed to be fine at the moment and Harry was having the hardest time trying to see the silver lining these days.

"Wow, thanks, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, his voice too high pitched, "that was delicious. Thanks so much."

"You are very welcome," she answered, turning around to look at him. She motioned to the counter next to her. "You can just set your plate right there; I'll get it once I'm done with this."

"I just want to thank you for everything you and Mr Weasley have done for me," he said, and then he hugged her tightly. She was stiff with surprise and she patted him on the back awkwardly. Harry was very disappointed when he pulled away. Where was all that warmth and love Harry had seen whenever she hugged Ron? _Because he's her son, and you're not_, he thought bitterly.

There was a confused, but pleasant expression upon Mrs Weasley's face as she stared at him. He gave her a tight smile and motioned to the back lawn, indicating that he was going to sit on the porch.

"I'll make some lemonade for you!" Mrs Weasley called after him. She stared at his retreating back for a moment, then shook her head and focused her attention back on the chicken. A small frown was evident upon her lips.

.:.

The air outside on the porch was thick and warm, pressing into Harry's skin and reddening his nose. He felt the cool sweat drip down his back and the slick moisture under his arms. He scratched involuntarily at his arms, the dirt from his fingernails irritating his skin. Before, he had imagined himself with a healthy tan to go with his summer, but all that had become of his exposure to the sun was a reddening of his pale flesh, blotched and burned.

He blinked away stinging wetness from his eyes as Ron walked up the steps, the screen door banging loudly behind him. He sighed and flopped gracelessly into the chair next to Harry. The freckles on his face were darkened to a deep brown. It looked like spots of skin cancer.

"Have you seen Hermione?" were the first words out of Ron's mouth and Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at him. Even after their kiss during the battle, they still hadn't stopped their frequent fighting. It was becoming ridiculous.

Harry shrugged without looking at his friend. "Dunno." He felt Ron's eyes on him.

"Did you just wake up?" Ron asked as he poured himself some of the lemonade Mrs Weasley had made.

"Yeah, I did. Your mum heated me up some breakfast." Harry paused, and when Ron didn't say anything he added, "I have that interview with Luna's dad today."

"That crazy bugger?" Ron said, but his eyes were staring through the screen netting at Hermione, who was picking flowers in the field across the lawn. He shook his head slowly. "Nothing to worry about. Just answer all his nutty questions about Nargles and big-nosed giraffes, and everything will go smoothly."

Harry forced himself to laugh. "I just can't wait to see what outfit he wears today. That man's wardrobe would make Malfoy jealous."

Ron finally turned his attention to him. They both sniggered with understanding. The image of Malfoy in one of Mr Lovegood's outfits, a bright yellow thing with roses tailored into the collar made a relaxed smile expand Harry's face. He was still smiling to himself when Hermione stomped through the porch, ignoring Ron all together as she waved to Harry. She motioned to the house and held up the bundle of flowers in her hand, indicating that she was going inside to put them away.

Nodding, Harry didn't miss the speculating look she gave him. He still had that daft grin plastered on his face. When she was out of hearing distance, Ron turned to him and sighed loudly, smacking his big hand against his forehead. "She's gone absolutely nutters, mate. Really, she has."

Harry debated on ignoring Ron just as Hermione did, but he thought it would be a bit too harsh. Ron was his best friend, after all, even when he was being annoying with all his relationship ranting. "Yeah?" Harry said, taking a large drink from his lemonade. The sourness of the liquid made his mouth water, and he worked to swallow down the taste.

"Well, you know how we snogged?" Harry didn't respond. "Anyway, of course you know, but – you also know what comes after snogging, right?" Ron peered at him, waiting for his answer. After a moment of silence, Ron continued, "Stupid question, of course you know. But it seems like Hermione doesn't know. She won't even allow me to touch her -- _down there_."

Grimacing, Harry intentionally shuttered noticeably. "Ron," he pleaded, "please – really – I don't want to hear about this."

Ron stared at him. "Oh, right – I forget, you're her best friend, too. It's fine if you want to take her side on this. You always take her side." He crossed his arms over his chest, huffing.

"No – it's not that I'm – taking sides," Harry began, his mind racing quickly to figure out how to explain his thoughts to Ron, "it's just that – really, mate, I don't want to hear about how you are trying to fuck Hermione."

"Oh," Ron answered, and then fell silent. He furrowed his brow as he thought. Harry was taken aback by how much Ron looked like Ginny in that moment. It was slightly unnerving.

There was a sudden loud _pop_, and Mr. Lovegood was standing on the steps of the porch, peeking through the screen door with a hand cupped over his eyes. Nothing had changed about his appearance; he was wearing a long purple coat, despite the incredible heat. His clear blue eye turned inward as he stared straight at Harry.

"Hello, dear Harry Potter!" he called out, his pleasant voice a grateful change from the last time Harry had seen him. Harry tried to remind himself that the war was over, which brought dramatic changes to people. Changes that seemed to bypass Harry.

Cursing silently, Harry suppressed his annoyed thoughts as he stood and offered Lovegood a pressed smile. He went to push the door open for the man, but Lovegood wouldn't step down to allow space, so Harry ended up hitting him in the chest.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. Lovegood yanked the door by its handle, ripping it from Harry's grasp.

"Not a problem," he said cheerfully, forcing Harry to scramble backward as he moved quickly onto the porch. He stood in the centre and look around with a smile adding to his comical expression. Gasping loudly, Lovegood jumped forward and sent a spell at the lemonade, shattering the glass pitcher.

"Ahh!" Harry yelled, moving quickly to see the damage. Frowning, he realised the lemonade had vanished completely, leaving only shards of glass everywhere. He paused to look up at Lovegood's satisfied expression. "Excuse me, but – what did you do that for?"

Lovegood nodded, his eyes wide. "Lemonade attracts deadly Yurckles. I saved your life."

Harry began to ask what Yurckles were, but Ron interrupted him. "I'll be just inside, Harry," he said, obviously mortified by Lovegood's behaviour.

"We need privacy, anyway," Lovegood said casually, taking the seat Ron had just occupied. He smiled broadly once more at Harry as he took out a notepad and quill that looked suspiciously alike to the one Skeeter used.

Harry's stomach sank at the sight. "Er, you know – I've only agreed to this interview because you're Luna's dad. I trust you not to print lies about me."

Lovegood appeared surprised. "What about me makes you suspicious?"

_Everything_, Harry wanted to say, but instead stared at Lovegood for a long moment. He motioned to the quill and pad. "Rita Skeeter used something similar when she interviewed me, and all that came from it was rubbish."

Tapping on the pad with his finger, Lovegood said, "Most people in journalism use something like this. They are all specially Charmed for certain jobs."

"What's yours Charmed for?" Harry couldn't help himself.

"Well, the Ministry has always been after me for publishing the truth. It's Charmed against any intruders trying to see inside." His crooked eye whizzed slightly in its socket.

"Oh." Harry sat back in his chair, afraid of the awkward silence that was sure to come.

But Lovegood laughed heartedly, then suddenly straightened his back, staring at Harry with intense scrutiny. "First question – what is your relationship with my daughter?"

Confused, Harry said, "What?"

Lovegood squinted at him, almost glaring. "Do you intent on marrying her?"

Harry gaped at him. "WHAT!" he practically shouted, his cheeks flushing deeply. "I – I don't understand." He tried to sound polite, but his frantic shock made his voice tremble. Lovegood took it as nervousness.

"You don't have to lie to me, I actually wouldn't mind if Luna married you." He sniffed as he stared down at Harry.

"But – I think you've got it all wrong." Harry took slow, deep breaths, trying to figure out how to explain to Lovegood that he wasn't interested in Luna. He didn't want to insult the man. "We are – just friends, that's all." What he really wanted to say was _why in the hell would I want to be with someone as nutty as you_, but then that would cancel out how great of a friend Luna had been to him. Yes, Luna was nutty, but she was a good person. Harry just wasn't interested in her – in anyone, really, at the moment.

"Oh, is that what you kids call it nowadays?" Lovegood looked more irritated than angry. "You can't fool me; Luna talks about you all the time. Your picture is even hanging on her wall! Now you tell me right now if you intent on marrying my daughter!"

"I – I don't like your daughter in that way," Harry said simply. "Nothing has ever happened between me and her."

Lovegood sniffed once more. "Fine, lie to me. I'll get to the bottom of this somehow. And don't you worry, I'll make sure you take full responsibility if it turns out you've hurt my daughter in any way!"

Harry's mouth hung open. "N-next question, please," he croaked.

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Murmured voices through the darkness. There was a bang, probably an elbow hitting the wall, quiet giggles that were muffled. Ron and Hermione were at it again, and this time they had chosen the corridor where he slept. Harry groaned and shoved a pillow over his head. Couldn't they go outside and do this? He tried to block out the smacking noises from their wet kissing. God, he would go insane if they didn't stop it soon.

He rocked back and forth, trying to lure his mind to rest. He hummed to himself to suppress any sound. _Forward, back, forward, back, forward, back. Rolling of head, deep breath. Forward, back, forward, back._ After an unknown number of minutes, he finally fell asleep, his opened mouth sucking at the white cotton of the pillowcase with each inhale. He was awakened by the door opening, but thought it was Ron, finally tired of snogging Hermione. He pressed his eyes tighter together and felt himself drift off again.

"Harry," was the whispered voice, "are you awake?"

He mumbled something incoherently, clenching his fists around the pillow. The soft pads of Ginny's feet on the carpet seemed to vibrate through the air, gnawing at Harry's senses. He groaned and tried to sit up, but a gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

"Don't get up. I didn't want to disturb you."

The touch itched through his shirt, and he fumbled for a moment, trying to shake Ginny's hand off his shoulder without seeming obviously. Her grasp tightened and he felt the bed sink down with her weight. She pulled the pillow off his head.

"I didn't know where else to go," she said, "they have taken over my room." She laughed.

Harry opened his eyes, and found Ginny staring down at him, her eyes beautiful and deep. He was grateful that his vision was blurred. He took a deep breath. "You mean – Ron and Hermione?" His mouth felt slick and heavy. Wet sounds came from his lips as he spoke. "You can sleep in here if you want."

A smile brightened her features. He closed his eyes again as she moved to lay under the duvet with him. He had meant that she could sleep in Ron's bed, but Harry wasn't going to tell her this as she scooted close to him. She rested her arm over his chest.

"Oh, Harry," she said into his neck. "You smell so good."

He felt his body stiffen from the proximity of her. Sighing, her hand began to move up and down his chest, caressing his skin with gentle circles. His heart beat within his throat as he laid perfectly still, allowing Ginny to touch him.

"So, how did that interview with Luna's dad go?" she asked conversationally, either not bothered by Harry's reaction to her caressing or ignoring it.

Gritting his teeth, he took another deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "It went well. The funny thing was that he thought I was in love with Luna."

Ginny giggled. "Really? That's insane." She paused to whisper in his ear, "It's insane, because no way would anyone have you except me."

No doubt her words were meant to be comforting, loving – but it made Harry's stomach drop with guilt. He – didn't feel that strongly about Ginny, and it made the muscles within his throat convulse. He had no idea how to even begin explaining to Ginny how he felt.

He forced himself to smile in response. Ginny must have seen something in his expression, because she mirrored his smile and leaned up to kiss his chin. Her lips were soft against the sharp edge of his jaw. His heart quickened as she moved to kiss him fully on the lips. He thought, "_Wow, I really should be enjoying this more_." His lips were unresponsive, but he allowed the kiss to continue, squeezing his eyes even tighter together.

"Harry," she whispered through the darkness, "please – just – let me in."

Frowning, Harry wondered what she meant. Let her in? Let her into where? He swallowed thickly and said, "Gin, please don't."

"No, listen to me." She took his face in between her hands and forced his gaze to hers. "I couldn't be there for you last year, please allow me to help you now." Her eyes were darkened and brown, and Harry had to suck in a quick breath. She was so beautiful – it made his heart ache.

"Anything," he said without knowing what he really was saying, "anything."

Her expression lit up, and she leaned down to wrap her arms around his neck. "I'll be there for you, Harry," she murmured against his skin, "I'll do anything for you." He stared up into her face, watching the way her lips moved as she spoke. Their eyes locked and she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "I love you."

He felt tears sting his eyes, and pulled Ginny down to kiss her. Their noses bumped, but Ginny wasn't troubled as their lips locker. She moaned slightly, pressing into Harry, closer and closer, as if she wanted to crawl under his skin. Sliding a leg in between his thighs, she covered him with her body, her small breasts pressing against his chest. It was a strange sensation, but Harry didn't altogether dislike it. Relieved, a warm surge of arousal rushed through him, and he concentrated fully on the touch of their bodies, of the feeling of her lips, their breathing mingling.

"Harry," she repeated against his mouth, "I want you. Do you want me?"

Nodding, he ran his hand down her back, his fingers skimming under her nightshirt. Her skin was soft and velvety, and he accepted that he wanted her, maybe it wasn't fiery passion, but he doubted that sort of feeling even existed.

Her lips moved to his neck, nipping at the skin behind his ear. As she worked her way down to his chest, he had to wonder how his stubble felt to her. He had always enjoyed the feeling of his unshaved face against his fingertips, and he wondered if she was taking the same pleasure from it. Gentle hands pushed his shirt up to his shoulders, and she mouthed hot kisses against his stomach. He trembled against her touch.

"I want you inside me," she whispered against his bellybutton, and his stomach clenched painfully. His lungs seemed to not want to work, the air escaping his mouth and not moving to his brain, forcing his head to spin. Oh, god.

Without waiting for a response, she flipped onto her back and pulled Harry on top of her. The cool sweat on his back seemed to freeze against the night time air. It was a great contrast to the burning of his body. Ginny fidgeted slightly and pulled her nightshirt over her head. He helped her out of a pair of flowery shorts.

Harry felt confused as he stared at her bare chest, skin milky white and splattered with freckles were the sun was allowed to touch. Her breasts moved up and down, quickly with each intake of air. He stared and stared, and told himself that it was an arousing sight, but it was foreign, so incredibly foreign. He didn't understand his feelings.

"I want you to touch me here." She cupped her hand over his and moved them down to rest against her white knickers. He felt her warm flesh against his fingertips, and the slightly moistness of the fabric. His hand trembled as their hands moved together, caressing her above her knickers.

Fear ran thick within his system, and he suddenly wanted to escape. He couldn't do this – he would break her. She was just too small, and he didn't want to chance hurting her. No way could he forgive himself if he harmed Ginny, so fragile and pure. Always there and warm, waiting for him. She was like the mother he desperately wished for, and maybe, maybe he could find comfort with her as time continued.

"Gin – Ginny, I can't – I just can't," he whispered, shaking as he tried to move away from her. He could tell from her expression that she was disappointed, but she smiled nonetheless, smoothing down his sweaty bangs against his forehead.

"That's all right, Harry," she answered breathlessly. "I can wait – we both can wait. Just let me stay here for the night, please?"

"Of course," he said, faking easiness, though it took him hours to finally fall asleep. With her slender body pressed against him, he waited for the erection so many of his friends had talked about. It never came.

.:.

"I think it's just great."

"I think it's just plain weird."

Harry looked between Ginny and Ron, his own thoughts on the subject silent as they continued to stare aghast at one another. They were on the train on September first, going to Hogwarts for the beginning of the year for the last time. Part of Harry was glad that he didn't have another year to look forward to; though, somewhere inside he knew that once he left Hogwarts something within changed. He hadn't decided if that change was good or not.

The news which his friends differed was that Bill Weasley had accepted the Defence against the Dark Arts position, ultimately bringing him closer to his wife and newborn daughter. Bill had supposed the night before at dinner that he was too old, too scarred to be chasing after cursed tombs. He now had a family to look after, and to much of Mrs Weasley's chagrin, said that he couldn't bear being apart from Fleur.

Harry couldn't make up his mind on whether he liked the idea of the oldest Weasley brother teaching his favourite subject. He wondered if he would feel close enough to him to ask him all the different questions that came up while studying. No matter, he doubt that Bill could be any worst than Snape, and that idea made him feel content about the choice of professor.

He wondered how it would feel, being back in the Great Hall, the place where he had defeated Voldemort. All those memories from the war, so fresh and alive within his consciousness at the Burrow, seemed to be just aching to disturb his waking hours. He feared he wouldn't be able to concentrate in class, not keep down a meal during dinner, if the guilt from the memory of that final battle stayed within him. Hogwarts had once been his safe heaven, now it had the potential to become his hell.

"He'll be breathing down our throats, watching our every move!" Ron said, waving his arms about his head. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"He could also help us out with our studies, be there for our games –" Ron paled under his freckles at Ginny's words. He had hinted at the idea that Harry wouldn't pick him this year for Keeper. Harry silently agreed with his suspicion.

"You know, Ronald," Ginny continued, a light pink surfacing on her cheeks, "do you ever think of anyone but yourself?"

"No, no he doesn't," Hermione piped in. Ron glared at her.

"This is a great opportunity for Bill. He can be closer to his family, which will make him happier." Ginny waited for his protest, but Ron just huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

After a long moment of silence, Hermione said, "I still can't believe I wasn't picked for Head Girl. Susan Fawcett is a good student, but – I mean – what has she done. Really?" She stared vacantly out the compartment window, her eyes dimmed with disappointment.

"Oh, god," Ron groaned, shaking his head. Harry knew that he was about to get back at Hermione for her harsh comment. "Can you just get over it now? It doesn't matter!"

Hermione's eyes flashed with anger. "Doesn't matter? Of course it matters! Who they choose for Head Girl and Boy will determine the rest of the year. And during a pinnacle time during Hogwarts history, it means just that much more."

Ron rolled his eyes as he mimicked her speech with his hand. She caught his eye and glared at him, but before she could open her mouth to retort, Harry stood and gave his friends an apologetic smile. "I need to use the loo," he said lamely. Ginny looked at him pleading, but he ignored her as he closed the door behind him.

Out in the corridor, he gave a quiet sigh of relief, happy to be away from his friends. It may sound horrible, but he just couldn't be near his friends when they began to fight. He felt bad about leaving Ginny, but also knew that she was there only because of him. She had other friends that she could easily join if Harry didn't come back after awhile.

A small boy was walking toward him with his head turned downward. The train shook slightly on its track and the boy was forced to look up to catch himself from falling. His eyes caught sight of Harry and widened considerably. He stopped a few metres away, just staring at Harry as if he were an apparition.

Closing his eyes, Harry turned around to face the wall to allow the boy to pass. He breathed in deeply and rolled his eyes when he knew the boy couldn't see his facial expressions. He was tired of everyone staring at him, their expressions forming disbelief as if he were part of a fairytale or legend, something that never existed or was thought to be lost for eternity. Couldn't they see that he was just an awkward eighteen-year-old? He owned a mirror; he saw how skinny and uncomfortable he was. People came up to him, shaking his hand and expecting him to be some charismatic hero. Fumbling about and flushing red didn't spell hero to Harry, and he wasn't sure what people really saw when they looked at him.

Looking around to see if anyone was in view, Harry took out his invisibility cloak and draped it around himself, sighing with relief. He loved the feeling of escaping the prying eyes of strangers, roaming over his body like he was a golden cauldron. He walked down the corridor to the loo, not really knowing what he was going to do once he got there. Probably use the toilet and spend a long time washing his hands. Maybe he could go find Neville and Luna. Maybe he could sit on one of the toilets for the duration of the trip, alone and comfortable.

He waited outside and listened for any sound coming from the loo before pushing open the door. It would be hard to explain himself if anyone realised he was stalking around under his cloak, especially in the boy's loo. Once inside he regretted his choice and hastily went pee and washed his hands, trying to get out as soon as possible. The place was wet and smelly, and he didn't want to be caught, unable to leave because someone was using the toilet and would be scared if the door randomly pushed open.

He was startled when someone came out of the stall next to the one he used, and he crept back into the corner, trying to conceal himself. He didn't know what he felt when he saw that it was Malfoy, not fear – never fear. Malfoy looked pinched and bored, his expression telling nothing. To someone who thought he was alone Malfoy seemed incredibly trite and stiff. Harry had to imagine that many things must be flowing through his mind at the moment – with his father facing trial for war crimes and the Ministry threatening to take Malfoy Manor away for victim payment.

Harry didn't like Malfoy – didn't like his family or their ideals. But he couldn't ignore the fact that Narcissa Malfoy had helped him that last night, even if it was only to get information on her son. He witnessed how poorly they were treated by Voldemort – and somewhere deep inside there was a certain form of pity he felt for the Malfoys. Somewhere deep, too deep to reach or feel.

Malfoy shook out his hands after washing them and then ran his fingers through his hair, slightly damping the blond strands. He glanced up into the mirror and glared at his reflection. "There's nothing to hide from now, Potter," he drawled, turning around to face the corner where Harry stood. "You've already saved the world, you'd think someone who defeated the Dark Lord _twice_ wouldn't have to hide in train loos."

"Tom – his name was Tom Riddle," Harry said, taking off the hood of the cloak. Malfoy cocked his head to the side, staring at him with dull eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Right, right. I heard something about that right before you murdered him."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't really kill him – he sort of killed himself."

Malfoy flapped his hand in the air. "Don't make it complicated. The Dark Lord is dead and you did it."

"It sounds like you wish Riddle was still alive." Harry couldn't help the interest that appeared within his voice.

Malfoy's eyes widened dramatically. "Oh, no – Mr Harry Hero Potter, you can't think that." He threw his hands up in defence. "My life is so much better now that all the evil has been destroyed."

"You don't have to taunt me about it," Harry said calmly. Staring into Malfoy's dead eyes, inspecting his slim shoulders and weak arms, he realised how much of a child Malfoy really was. "You know, I really thought the war would have made you mature. Even with your father in Azkaban –"

"Don't you dare speak about my father!" Malfoy snapped, his eyes showing emotion for the first time. A slight pink had surfaced within his face. It brightened his features and Harry had to blink at him.

It was Harry's turn to be on the defence. He took a step backward. "I didn't mean any harm – I was just trying to make a point." He saw how Malfoy clenched his hands into fists at his side.

Malfoy sneered violently at him. "_Just to make a point_!" he taunted, his voice high-pitched. He rolled his eyes and took a few steps toward Harry. "I say watch yourself, Potter. Some people aren't so happy about the situation now."

Harry was confused. He found Malfoy's words almost comical. "Why would anyone not like Voldemort gone? You are ridiculous."

Malfoy's anger flared at his words. "I'm ridiculous? Maybe you should visit Azkaban sometime and see what they think!"

Scoffing, Harry replied, "They are murders, they deserve to be punished."

"They are family!" Malfoy snarled, taking two quick strides to Harry. He pointed his wand into Harry's face. "I blame you for _everything_!" His breath smelt sour and Harry felt spittle land on his cheek.

"Get away from –" Harry began, but Malfoy screamed something and the world went black.


	3. Chapter 3

He awoke with his face pressed into the cold tile of the loo, the damp paper from the ground sticking to his robes. His head pounded with evident pain, and it took him a few moments to focus his eyes properly. His invisibility cloak was gone.

Malfoy had actually hexed him when he wasn't prepared, the absolute bastard. Really, who did such things? When Harry began he had no intention of even running into Malfoy, though somehow he had ended up with a stolen cloak. The bastard took his father's cloak.

Harry's first reaction was to strike out – find Malfoy on this train and beat him to a pulp until the fucker decided to give back his cloak. He raised himself into a sitting position, scrubbing his grimy face with two hands. No, he'd have to think logically about this. Adult wizards didn't just rush off and punch someone in the face. He'd go to McGonagall and ask her for help. Weren't there retrieving spells for these situations? It seemed it was the best option – Harry wouldn't get in trouble and Malfoy would be reprimanded by McGonagall.

Realising he'd actually thought out a problem logically, Harry smiled briefly to himself. His stomach twisted at the thought of not having his cloak, but it wouldn't do any good for him to lash out at Malfoy. He supposed Malfoy was sort of correct – everything wasn't perfect, even after the war. But Harry decided that he'd do his best not to escalate the relationships between both sides even more, including his relationship with Malfoy.

Malfoy was a child. A child who had been abused for the past year. It would take time for him to heal just like everyone else.

Sitting there, smelling shite with his clothes dampened, he wondered how he was able to keep his composure. How was he able to just brush Malfoy's attack off, but if Ginny even touched him he felt a striking anger boil within him. It was ridiculous – it was a relief. It gave him confidence to know that he was able to stay in control at least in one particular moment in his life.

He desperately wanted to be composed and in control in every aspect of his life; he hoped this was just the beginning of his knew found strength. It was exhilarating in a very strange way.

"Oi, Harry. What are you doing down there?" Neville looked down at him, concerned. Harry blinked, realising he hadn't even heard the door open.

"I – slipped, hit my head," Harry responded, struggling to stand up. Neville offered his hand to help him up.

"You should see Pomfrey when we get to Hogwarts." Neville paused, puffing out his chest. "Have you heard?" he asked, pointing to the badge pinned to his robes. "I was picked as Head Boy."

Harry beamed at him, thinking about Hermione's disappointment. "That's just great, Neville. If anyone deserved it, it sure is you." The image of Neville slicing off Nagini's head flashed within Harry's mind. He felt immense gratitude.

Something in Neville's eyes made Harry feel uncomfortable. The happiness that engulfed his face at Harry's words made it seem as if Neville actually cared, very deeply, about what Harry thought of him. It made Harry's stomach twist in pain. Neville wasn't supposed to look up to him – they had known each other since they were children. They were equals – how Neville had acted on the battlefield had obviously showed that. If it weren't for Neville Voldemort would've still been alive.

Laughing, Harry clutched at the back of his neck. "Oh, well, you enjoy the rest of the ride, yes?"

Neville's thinned face showed confusion. "Are you sure you're all right there?"

"Yeah, yeah – everything is fine," Harry responded, brushing his bangs from his eyes. He really needed a haircut. They stared at one another for a moment, then Harry nodded and walked out of the loo.

"See you around!" Neville called after him.

With his head down, Harry rushed down the corridor without looking at anyone. Somewhere in his mind he knew that he was being ridiculous, but he felt horribly exposed without his cloak, and he felt as if everyone was staring at him. Though, they probably were – but why couldn't he just walk with his head held high?

Back in the compartment, he was unable to speak to Ron and Hermione, who asked him where he had gone off to but where too involved in their own glaring competition to really pay attention to Harry. He accepted their distraction, because – well, the war was over. They had been there for him long enough, everything – everyone was supposed to be okay now. He tried not to let the anger from his thoughts penetrate his consciousness.

Ginny wrapped his small hand around his, squeezing with reassurance. She smiled softly at him. "You have a bit of toilet paper in your hair."

He brushed his fingers through his hair, feeling slightly unnerved.

.:.

There were ghosts in the Great Hall. No, more than just the usual ghosts – but real ghosts that actually scared you. Harry sat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast on the first day of classes, and his eyes flashed whenever he saw Lupin – Tonks – Colin dead on the floor. Where McGonagall was sitting was where Voldemort had fallen dead. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, trying to ignore his thoughts.

He wouldn't allow himself to react to his memories – they weren't going to affect him during this last year. This was a time, according to Mr Weasley, that was supposed to be carefree and devoted to trying out new experiences. Danger was no more – everyone needed to give a sigh of relief and go on with their lives.

"Harry, your schedule."

He looked up and saw Bill Weasley staring back at him, his hand poised to give Harry his schedule. It was still a shock, even if they had all seen _Professor_ Weasley sitting at the head table. Harry smiled and took the card, blinking away the sight of scars against that handsome face. "Thanks, Professor," he said, making sure his voice sounded easy.

Bill smiled down at him and went on to the next student. He tapped his wand against the card and solid, black letters appeared on the white. His brows came together in confusion.

"We have teaching assistants here?" he asked no one in particular, but he knew Hermione would answer.

She looked over his shoulder at his schedule. "It seems so – I heard rumours about it becoming more popular this year – especially with all the new professors." She paused, staring down at his card. "Wow, you'll have three Defence classes once you include your assistant class."

Ron grimaced once he got a look. "You're going to be a TA to my brother?"

Harry felt his stomach sink. "Yeah – what's so bad about it?"

Shrugging, Ron answered, "Nothing, I guess, he's just really demanding."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course you would say that – you are most lazy person I've ever met!"

Ron glared at her and mumbled under his breath. Whatever he said made Hermione's cheeks blaze bright red and her eyes widened considerably.

"Ronald!" she gasped, then smacked him in the shoulder.

Harry looked between them, his eyes searching for clues on what the hell was happening. He reminded himself that he'd decided long ago to ignore their scuffles. Turning away from them, he forked his lukewarm eggs around his plate, trying to make up his mind on whether he liked the idea of being a TA for the DADA class. He doubted Bill would be any trouble – yes, maybe he'd demand a lot of Harry, but that prospect didn't scare him. It was just surprising – would he be grading essays everyday or would he actually be working with the students, helping them like he did with Dumbledore's Army?

Shockingly, the idea of him helping out with the teaching cheered Harry up – he actually felt excited to see what Professor Weasley had in store for him.

.:.

Harry was surprised to see Slughorn still occupying the Potion's Master position. He felt slight anger as he remembered how the coward had tried to run away during the battle. Children had been fighting and he only thought of himself. It made Harry sick.

The class started off as its usual self, with Slughorn taking attendance and explaining the class rules. He tapped his wand against the board and the syllabus appeared. He asked them to copy it down as if they were first years.

Harry's stomach knotted together once he realised Malfoy was in the same class. It was strange – being in this atmosphere again after a hard year of fighting. The boy was stationed in front of him and every time Harry caught a glimpse of that blond head his mind flashed back to the fiery disaster in the Room of Requirements, or the way Malfoy's face had appeared during that time when Harry had been captured in the Malfoy Manor.

What was he doing with Harry's cloak? Did he parade it around the common room, gloating on how he stole the Chosen One's prized possession? The cat was out of the bag, as the saying goes, and Harry felt a mourning quality within him – everyone would soon know that he owned an Invisibility Cloak and never again would he be able to stalk alone, going without notice.

He gritted his teeth, watching as Malfoy bent his head forward, the pale skin on the back of his neck smooth and white – as if the skin was translucent and Harry could see down to the muscle. He suddenly had the urge to punch the back of Malfoy's neck, but he made himself look away, swallowing slowly as he pushed down his anger. Malfoy would be the one person he wouldn't be angry at, ironically.

For the last half of the class they were set to begin working on a review potion, which despite Hermione's huffing, suited Harry just fine. All of his determination during the war had made him forget lots things that wouldn't help him – like making potions. He sometimes couldn't remember how to spell certain words; it was as if his mind had deleted all the unnecessary facts and replaced them with survival techniques.

He assigned to get the potion ingredients, and as he waited in line for the ingredients cupboard, he realised that Malfoy was unbearably close again. The blond stood just in front of him, and he swallowed down his anger before tapping him on the shoulder.

Malfoy didn't look back. "What is it, Potter?"

Leaning in closer, Harry whispered, "I'd like to have my cloak back, if you don't mind."

There was a brief hesitation. Malfoy's shoulders seemed to relax. "I don't know what you are talking about," he responded casually, but his voice was filled with mirth.

Harry bit down the insult that sprang to his tongue. He exhaled slowly. _Keep calm. He's only doing this to make you angry. You can do this._ "Malfoy – _please_ -- I don't want to play games with you. All I want is my cloak back. I'll be forced to go to McGonagall about it if you don't give it back."

Malfoy's shoulders shook as he laughed. "Go to McGonagall. I don't care."


End file.
